There was a knock on the glass of the automatic sliding door. I just locked it because 11pm had arrived and it was time to secure the building. The man lifted the after-hours phone and spoke into it. “Let me in, I’m in 222. I don't have my card key.” A push of a button opened the door. Walking in and falling on the chair at the lobby computer he began delving into the web. I went about my business.
Five minutes later room 222 was in front of me. “Hi, I’m Lenny. Are there no escort services in Sedona?”
"There aren't," I said.
"What kind of town is this," he blubbered. Lenny in room 222 headed down the hallway.
"Flagstaff
"That's too far away," he shouted from down the hall. He was horny but not that horny.
A few minutes later Lenny returned with a piece of paper in his hand. Hovering over the lobby phone he picked up the receiver. "Can I dial out with this phone," he looked inquisitively at me.
"Only if it is a local call," said I. Evidently room 222 had found a number to an escort service.
Lenny sat down to dial the number to a rendezvous that would ease his throbbing need. Listening to the beeps, I could hear the tone of six digits dialed but not the final seventh. I waited a while longer but still did not hear the tone. Had 222 reconsidered? No? The would-be joy house attendee began snoring. The bugger had fallen asleep in the middle of dialing the number to the gentleman's retreat. Lenny hit the hay before he got a chance to hit the sack with a “sporting” lady. He was snoring with the phone receiver in his ear, the paper with the phone number resting on his lap and his finger touching but not pressing that all important last digit to the phone that belonged to the escort service.
I waited a moment; he was snoring so loud I was sure he would wake himself up. No, this ole boy was a heavy sleeper. Lenny’s breath kept buzzing but that last digit would not be beeping. So Lenny sat there, hibernating for hours.
Two a.m. gonged on the lobby clock, and then the phone rang. “Hotel,” I spoke softly.
“Hello, I would like to rent a room for an hour. I have an appointment with Lenny Baird in room 222.” The woman spoke calmly and with confidence.
“Rooms are rented by the day not the hour,” said I.
“Well, I’m Lenny’s escort for the night. You sure I can’t have a room for an hour?” She was pleading. Hmm, looks like Lenny made a call from his room. We may only have reached the midpoint of this sordid tale of Lenny’s lost lust.
“This isn’t a flop house, lady," I responded. Besides, your appointment is snoring in a lobby chair and he already has a room.”
“I can wake him.”
“Not tonight.” I hung up on the bimbo.
For five hours Lenny kept buzzing with each breath. Six o'clock rolled around and he was still snoozing with the phone at his ear. I hoped his dreams were slaking the sexual tension. Please, may the dreams not be too gratifying. No bodily fluids soiling the cushion upon which Lenny reposed, thank you.
Finally, people were walking into the lobby for the gratis breakfast. A little girl walked by the hulk of room 222, still snoring. She giggled softly and that woke Lenny. He struggled to his feet, staggering to the corner of the lobby between the sliding door and the entrance to the stairs.
The same little girl squealed, “Daddy, that man is taking his clothes off!” Every head having breakfast turned to look at Lenny.
Lenny had pulled his t-shirt over his head and was naked from the waist up. There seemed to be a problem with his workout shorts. They had fallen off his hips and hung at his knees. Colorful briefs were the only things keeping those of us in the lobby from knowing Lenny in a biblical way. More than little girls were squealing now, but Lenny seemed incapable of noticing. Room 222 caught his shorts and pulled them up to parts north, clutching them with his left fist. The door to the stairs seemed to beckon him but he reconsidered. Choosing to stumble across the lobby Lenny banged into furniture and narrowly fell on an elderly woman.
Everyone stared at Lenny and made way for the slightly comatosed zombie. He leaned over the counter where the cereal was served, perhaps willing himself back into his body (I hoped). The eyes were open but I don’t think he could see. Anyway, he took three steps to the juice dispenser and placed a cup, down-side-up, under the spigot. I caught him just before he pushed the button to unleash the flow.
“Partner, I think your cup is in a compromising position.” I turned it top-side-up. Lenny dropped his shirt over an omelet on someones plate and touched the button to get his juice.
Room 222 exited the breakfast area and disappeared down the hall with a cup in hand and his shirt cast over his shoulder. No one checked his progress but in the breakfast area there was a prayer circle organized. Voices in unison asked the Divine to help Lenny find his room and the rest of his clothing. I just hoped he wasn’t prostrate on the hall floor with another snooze on.
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